


dust and shadow

by pendules



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Last Hours - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I missed my <i>books</i>. But yes. I missed my parents. And Lucie." It was unbearable at first, being surrounded by strangers, and then even worse when everyone found out what he was. Of course, it had gotten better, when he had Christopher and Thomas — and <i>Matthew</i>. He never bargained on someone like Matthew, being here, in the place he spent most of his childhood, a place filled with the things and people he loves the most. Somehow, it's like he fits right in among them, though.<br/> </p><p>London, after <i>Nothing but Shadows.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	dust and shadow

His first night back is spent with a stack of his favourite books and Matthew in his new room at the Institute. He can't remember the last time he was this happy. He's pretending to be engrossed in _A Tale of Two Cities_ (his parents' favourite) but instead he's been sneaking glances over his glasses at Matthew, who's reading on the opposite corner of the bed, for the last twenty minutes.

Eventually, he catches him looking and just smiles, not The Smile, but a softer one, slightly wearier. James wonders if he's worried about his parents, or if he doesn't actually like it here. But all he does is stare at James for a moment, like none of that matters at all.

"You missed it here," Matthew says, like his own contentment is written all over his face.

"I missed my _books_. But yes. I missed my parents. And Lucie." It was unbearable at first, being surrounded by strangers, and then even worse when everyone found out what he was. Of course, it had gotten better, when he had Christopher and Thomas — and _Matthew_. He never bargained on someone like Matthew, being here, in the place he spent most of his childhood, a place filled with the things and people he loves the most. Somehow, it's like he fits right in among them, though. 

They're going to be _parabatai_. It still thrills him, to think about it. Matthew Fairchild, who could charm anyone or choose anyone to be his friend, wanting to be close to him. He thinks about his father's unbreakable bond with Uncle Jem, even after all this time and after his change into a Silent Brother; there's always been a part of him that doubted that someone would ever feel that way about him, no matter how desperately he wanted a _parabatai_ of his own.

"I'm going to miss Christopher and Thomas," Matthew says firmly. "But not the Academy."

James nods. It's not the right place for either of them; maybe he's always known it.

"I was scared, you know," Matthew says, after a minute of silence.

James raises his eyebrows. It's unlike him to ever admit to anything like this.

"About what?"

"That you wouldn't — that you'd say no." He's never looked this uncertain before, not even when confronted with dead bodies or demons or James turning into an actual shadow.

"How could I say no?" James says, smiling. 

"I thought you hated me for a long time," he admits.

"I — I didn't. Not really. You're just — a lot to handle." 

"What do you mean?" Matthew says, looking genuinely confused.

"I mean, it's kind of exhausting being around you. Especially when you're like _me_."

"Like _you_?"

"I'm just not used to it. To anyone like _you_ , I mean." James is pretty sure there isn't anyone else like him in the entire world, though. But of course, he's never going to tell him that.

"Oh, haven't you figured out I'm one-of-a-kind yet, Jamie?" Matthew says, managing The Smile now.

*

Lucie stares at Matthew even more than James does at meals.

"You didn't say he was so handsome," she scolds him when Matthew's left them at the table to write a letter to his mother, probably full of flowery apologies.

"I — Is he?" James asks, distractedly. And yes, of course he knows that Matthew's objectively good-looking. Girls love him. But _everyone_ loves him, and not just because of how he looks. It's because he's earnest and kind and loyal and treats you like you're important, like you're worthy of his attention and his friendship.

Lucie just stares at him like he's insane.

"What?"

"I need to write to Cordelia," she says, getting to her feet and traipsing off.

"What?" he says again to the empty room, feeling he's missing something frustratingly obvious.

*

They train and read and write to Christopher and Thomas and wander around London unsupervised and _this_ , this is all James has ever wanted. To be at home, to feel safe and accepted, to have someone to share in all of this. In growing up and becoming a Shadowhunter and fulfilling their sacred duty. He can tell Matthew's really coming around to embracing his place in their world now, too.

They're in the park, feeding the ducks that his father despises, when Matthew says, "I'm going back to Idris in a week."

" _Oh_." And he knew this was going to happen, but he's kind of pushed it to the back of his mind, because everything has been so perfect so far and he doesn't want anything to get in the way of it, of _them_. "Yes, of course. To see your father."

"You can come with me next time, but my mother is still quite furious with me. I think I need to spend some time with them alone." Matthew's looking at the water, and not at his face.

"Yes. Right."

He feels Matthew's fingers encircle his wrist, squeeze his pulse point gently, and then it's gone just as quickly, almost as if he'd imagined it.

*

James mopes around the Institute for two weeks while he's gone. Of course, he'd never admit this.

His father corners him while he's roaming the corridors morosely one afternoon, though.

They sit in the music room where Uncle Jem's violin still resides. His father looks at it for a moment and then at him.

"What's wrong, Jamie? I haven't seen you like this in a long time." James knows he means the period after he'd learnt about his mother's heritage. Learnt what he was.

"Do you remember when you and Mother told me about Uncle Jem? About why I'm named for him?"

"Yes, of course," Father says, straightening in his seat.

"You said you were closer than brothers. You were like the same person in two bodies."

His father nods, his eyes sad.

"I don't feel like that about Matthew. I mean, I _do_ , but —"

"You're in love with him," his father finishes, and it's not a question.

James isn't even sure when it happened. Sometimes, he thinks about that party he'd first seen him at, years ago; that smile that had been etched on his memory for all time. It was a crush, even if he didn't know it yet, even if he didn't know he could have a crush on another boy at the time. And then there he was again at the Academy — older and taller and even more beautiful but just as effortlessly charming and enchanting. It was all a blur after that: not liking him, being jealous of how easily he made friends, finally understanding him, becoming inextricably tied up with him. Somewhere in between all of that, he fell in love with him. It's not very surprising, in retrospect.

James gives the slightest nod. His father sighs.

"How did you know?" he asks quietly. He can't have been _that_ obvious.

"It's the way you look at him. It's the same way I used to look at your mother."

James feels something clench in his chest.

" _Parabatai_ can't —" his father starts.

"I know," James says quickly. "I know that. But I don't — I don't know if he feels the same. Or will _ever_ feel the same."

"You can't keep this from him, Jamie. It will only hurt you both."

His father reaches out and clasps his hand and just stays with him for a while longer.

*

He feels more nervous than he ever has in his life waiting for Matthew in the foyer of the Institute. And then he's coming through the doors, hair windswept and _perfect_ , clothes just as ridiculous and smile just as bright and irresistible. The angel help him.

He pulls James into his arms without hesitation. James buries his nose into his shoulder and he smells like _Matthew_ and like Idris, a little bit magical and otherworldly. Matthew claps him on the back a few times for good measure before letting him go. James hopes he doesn't notice how red he's gone. But then Matthew's dragging him back to his room by his elbow, already in the middle of his story about all the adventures he had in Idris. 

They're sitting cross-legged, facing each other on the bed now. Matthew had visited Christopher and Thomas at the Academy and they're doing fine but they say it's not the same without them there and that Alastair is being particularly obnoxious in light of his exploded belongings. James can't help but laugh thinking about it, and then Matthew's laughing too and it's the only sound he ever wants to hear ever again. 

But then they go quiet.

"Is your mum still angry?" James asks, carefully.

"My father was so delighted that I was home that she couldn't say a word about it," Matthew says, smiling.

"I'm happy for you," James tells him.

"What about you?"

"What?" James says, taken by surprise.

"What did you do while I was gone?"

"Oh, nothing. Fed the ducks, failed at avoiding training, let Lucie braid my hair."

"Well, that's good. I thought you'd be despairing over my absence," Matthew says, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. I actually did spend most of my days dramatically draped over furniture, longing for your safe return."

"Good to know I was missed, Jamie," he says, winking.

"Of course. I would be lost without you," James says, hoping the small tremble in his voice doesn't give him away.

Matthew just smiles and pulls a book-shaped package out of his trunk and hands it over to him. "For you."

It's Oscar Wilde, of course. There's an inscription on the inside of the front cover: _Jamie, my parabatai. Much more than dust and shadow._

He clutches the book to his chest, his heart aching dully.

*

Christopher had mentioned a friend of the Lightwood family in London throwing a party, so of course Matthew decides to gatecrash. James refuses at first, but he's long since given up even trying to say no to Matthew once he's set his mind on something.

It goes smoothly; they get in and no one recognises them and Matthew strikes up a rousing conversation with a group of middle-aged women and manages to get both of them a few glasses of actual wine. James will never understand the kind of spell he casts over people to make them love him; he's just another helpless victim of it.

And then James sees one of his parents' friends and urgently pulls him in the direction of the balcony.

When they shut the doors behind them, Matthew laughs like it's all a grand adventure; James feels like he's possibly going to have a heart attack.

"How many drinks did you have?" he asks as Matthew wobbles a little as he makes his way to the railing to look out at London.

"Does it matter? Look at this view."

James joins him and he's right. Alicante is captivating and beautiful, but London's the only place he wants to live. The varied peoples and the rich culture and the thrum of life running through the streets.

James looks at Matthew as he looks at the city and his green eyes are bright and wide in the darkness. Like stars. James' eyes are different: corrupted, tainted. Like his soul.

Almost like he's reading his mind, Matthew looks over at him and says, "You should take your glasses off sometimes."

"Why?" James says, feeling exposed.

"Because you don't have to hide. Not from me."

"I don't?" James says, entranced, like he's been trapped in Matthew's piercing gaze.

"You're the best friend I've ever had," Matthew says softly, reaching up and sliding his glasses off his face. And then he leans in and brushes his lips over James'. 

He's never kissed anyone before, but he already knows that nothing else will ever compare to this. His mouth is soft and full and all his senses are overwhelmed: by his taste and warmth and scent and touch. He runs his hands into Matthew's ridiculous hair and then Matthew's pressing him against the railing and kissing him properly. It's a bit messy and uncoordinated, but James wouldn't trade it for anything.

When he opens his eyes, Matthew's standing so close to him, his face an inch from his own, hands still bracketing his hips. He wants to look away or close his eyes, but then Matthew's grasping his chin and tilting it up, forcing him to look at him.

"You're beautiful," he tells him, and James feels the air leave his lungs.

Matthew kisses him again, on his cheek this time, and then gently leads him back to the party.

*

They're sprawled on the rug next to Matthew's bed and James' head is in his lap and they're gorging on sweets and reading. Matthew's fingers are combing through his hair and it feels so good. He's thinking about Matthew going a spectacular shade of red when he'd admitted to having a crush on him since they first met at the Academy; he hasn't turned the page in a long time, probably. Matthew isn't even teasing him about it, though. 

Nothing much has changed. They still train together and study together and read their favourite passages from their favourite books to each other and play quotation guessing games and sneak out to roam the city at night, but there's a bit more kissing in clandestine corners of the Institute now. Sometimes Matthew holds his hand under the dining table and he almost chokes and Lucie smirks at him, knowingly. Sometimes, he falls asleep in Matthew's bed while reading and wakes to find a blanket thrown over him and his glasses sitting on the bedside table on top of his carefully-marked book. They're going back to Idris in a few weeks; they'll see Christopher and Thomas and spend time with Matthew's family and maybe he isn't sure what happens in the years to come, when their training's complete and they're real Shadowhunters, but they'll figure it out, he knows. As long as they're together, it's going to be fine.

He smiles up at him, all upside down, book forgotten, and Matthew bends down to kiss his forehead. And in that moment, he's never felt more solid or full of light.


End file.
